


Wak Wak

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Dude, could you not do that in front of me?” Dean had been putting newspaper down over in the corner of the room, but Sam seemed to like to crap right up close to wherever Dean happened to be. </i></p><p><i>Dean sighed. It felt strange calling Sammy the Duck ‘dude’, but what was Dean supposed to call him? Donald?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wak Wak

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompt 'Sam turns into a duckling. Dean copes.'

“Sammy, no!”

 _Wak wak?_

“Dude, could you not do that in front of me?” Dean had been putting newspaper down over in the corner of the room, but Sam seemed to like to crap right up close to wherever Dean happened to be.

Dean sighed. It felt strange calling Sammy the Duck ‘dude’, but what was Dean supposed to call him? Donald?

Dean’s lips curved.

“Hey, Donald!”

Sam tilted his head at Dean, left then right. Dean had no idea what kind of memory or person-awareness Sam had right now, but if this duck—sorry, _duckling_ crap—was as temporary as Bobby kept insisting it was, then it might be worth getting some fun out of this mess.

“Yeah, you with the feathers and the beady eyes. You wanna go swim in the tub again, or you want me to find some pals for you to watch on Disney?”

It was the bitch face! Seriously. Little beak tight and high, eyes narrowed, right little web-foot-thingy also held high. It was the bitch face, and it was too much. Two days of unbelievable stress and craziness, and pint-sized Sammy, god damn him, was still _Sammy_.

Dean thought about reaching for his phone—he already had a file so full of blackmail material he was never going to be doing laundry again—but he was laughing so hard he had to hold his sides instead.

And as for Sam, Sam did this wave-like ruffle of every feather he had. He stretched himself up to his full height in the process, and Dean couldn’t help but reach down and pat his head, and then scratch him all the way round to his beak. And it might have started out as the duck equivalent of a severe eye-roll and toss of bangs on Sam’s part, who the fuck knew? But he stayed where he was, right under Dean’s hand until Dean quieted.

“That’s my boy.” One more pat, one more scratch, one more _wak_. “We’ll be okay, Sammy, you’ll see.”

 

Two days later Dean was online reading [ Duckling Care](http://www.phelpswaterfowl.com/Duckling_Care.htm) and trying to work out just how a light bulb might stop Sam from wanting to sleep with him at night, when an almighty thump and splash came from the bathroom.

Dean got up immediately, heart hammering. _Please, please, please. No more waks, no more fucking wak waks..._

A cough. Then...“Dean?”

 _Thankyouthankyouthankyou_

He strode over and banged open the door, his smile instantly huge and wide when he took in the dripping, scowling vision before him.

“Dean? What the... why the fuck am I in the tub?”

Dean’s grin got even wider. “You don’t know?”

“No! What the hell am I doing in here?”

“Well, what do you remember?”

“Um... not very much? I remember us going up to the lake, and then... Shit, that water spirit! She did something, didn’t she? I remember you yelling at me not to look—”

“—yeah, and you looked, you moron.”

“So? What’d she do? Curse me to live in a tub for a day?”

Sam was standing, angling his long, unfeathered arms and legs out of the bathtub and actually _smiling_ at his own lame-ass wit. Dean could not believe how perfect this was going to be.

He handed Sam both towels.

“Come on. Get dry and dressed, and I’ll tell you. Hell, I’ll even show you”

He went back to the laptop, clicked the folder marked ‘Donald’, and waited.

It didn’t take long.

“Dean? What did you mean show...?”

Dean spun the laptop around to face Sam as he got closer.

“Sam, meet Donald. Donald, Sam. Or should I say, Sam, meet Sam.”

The jaw-drop wasn’t the bitch face, but it was pretty damn sweet all the same.

******


End file.
